Page 144 of Knot Their Soldier: Part Three

I picture a baby in the nest, warm and loud and alive. Viper fussing over Halley while she breastfeeds, making sure she's comfortable, his brows creased because he's concerned his hands are too big for something so small. Knox being soft and gentle because he's a protector, and that's his pup. Blaze getting possessive over a tiny bundle, obsessed with them the same way he is with his Omega. Halley taking it all in her stride with that steady courage she's always had.

And me.

The image lands with surprising certainty. Like I told Halley days ago, if she is pregnant, I know I’ll take to fatherhood easily. I'd be a rutting-amazing dad.

I have never really pictured myself having children. Unlike the Alphas who, as soldiers, were never destined for a mate, as a Beta, I had a chance of mating with another Beta. Except I never did. I didn't date or pursue serious relationships.

Truthfully, it felt cruel. I was ripped from my family because I tested above some arbitrary intelligence metric, and there was no guarantee my child wouldn't be taken from me too. It also felt cruel to plan for the future when the threat of genocide hung over Fathim.

Now, even if we survived long enough for them to be born, bringing our Pack's baby into this world feels like we've betrayed them before they've even arrived. We'd be plunging an innocent into the depths of war.

I swallow hard, my throat tight.

The ethical considerations aren't even the most problematic element.

The truth is, my Packmates, for all their devotion and discipline, are profoundly unsuitable as parents.

We've grown so much to be worthy of Halley, but she's a grown woman making her own choice to be with us despite our dysfunction. A baby doesn't get that choice. There are parts of us that don't belong anywhere near a child. You can't completely domesticate soldiers who were raised to kill.

The datapad pings in my hands and breaks me from my thoughts.

It's an updated projection of the enemy's position, and I watch it as it creeps closer to the Pass.

Six days until the battle that ends it all.

Live or die, in six days everything will be different.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Halley

Day Fourteen

Today is the day.

We walk to the infirmary in silence.

The fortress is quiet this early in the morning, with only the occasional thumping of boots as a patrol marches past.

One of the Beta soldiers has a fresh bandage wrapped around his upper arm, and another walks with a limp he’s trying to hide. I heard the report before we left the cabin. A patrol returned before dusk yesterday after contact with a Human scouting unit too far north of where they should have been. Not the main army. Shade was very clear that the bulk of their forces is still days away.

Still, the knowledge that the war is almost at our doorstep follows me down the corridor.

They’re close.

Knox has me tucked under his arm and pressed to his side, letting his radiant heat keep the chill of the morning mountain air at bay. It's moments like this when I can see how far he's come. He's still not instinctively gentle like Viper or sensitive to my needs like Shade, but he offers me his own brand of comfort when he can.

Shade is on my other side, quiet and drawn with heavy shadows under his eyes. Blaise and Viper trail close enough that I can feel their presence without turning around.

My skin prickles with awareness, every nerve pulled too tight. I feel stretched to the edge of overload, as if my whole nervous system is struggling not to give out under the pressure.

Ever since I came back from the dead, I have been watched, measured, and quietly interpreted with a level of intensity I have never felt before. Every soldier in this fortress is waiting for the moment I become the thing that saves them from the enemy, and that kind of expectation sits on my chest, growing heavier with every passing day.

My Pack is not helping, even though I know they mean well.

I love their presence inside me, and the way the bond keeps them close even when we're not together. Most of the time, that closeness comforts me. Lately, though, their constant checking in and relentless protectiveness have worn me thin.

They hover because they’re scared, and they worry because they love me. I know that.